The Art of Deception
by SuperWhoAvengerChanceryLock
Summary: Sherlock Holmes thought he knew everything about his newest flatmate, who just appeared at their doorstep, until he started to realize that she actually had quite a few secrets, and was doing everything in her power to shield her past from him.
1. 01: The Girl on the Doorstep

**Author's Note: I'm resurrecting my old character, Christyna Chancery because I feel as if she's getting a bit antsy standing on a shelf and collecting dust, so here I am, putting her to good use. She's going to be the main character of this story. Anyways, I hope you guys like this chapter, more importantly this story, because I'm pumped to be attempting (for the first time) at writing a Sherlock fanfic.**

 **Give me a review to let me know what you guys think!**

 **-C.C. Capitols**

* * *

 **01.**

 **The Girl on the Doorstep.**

An explosion. Hot, blinding blue light. Christyna blinked, trying to see past the orange spots that danced and swam across her blurry vision. And the pounding migraine didn't help her case. "Oh, God, where am I?" She asked herself, trying desperately to see past the haze that blocked her temporarily disabled vision.

She took a few steps forward, holding her hands out in front of her, reaching out for a wall, a person, or _something_ to catch her bearings. For one second, she was on solid concrete ground, stumbling blindly forwards, and the next, she was falling. It didn't all make sense until she had hit the ground and she felt unconsciousness sweep over her like a thick dark blanket.

* * *

Another explosion. Only this time, milder than the first.

She was in a hospital.

It was the smell, God, always that smell. It haunts her in her sleep. She could see it all over again, _the accident_. Her parents crying, her own little self confused as she stood to the side, her head tilted sideways, like a dog's.

She was only eight when it had happened, _the accident_ , and she didn't even remember much. But probably because she didn't understand what was going on then, but then again, she was eight.

Far too young to understand much, too young to understand why her mum was crying hysterically, begging to be let past the doctors.

Too young to understand the people coming by later, giving her parents flowers, cards, stuffed animals, baked goods and store bought goods, with kind, warm words whispered to them softly, quietly so that "poor little Christyna wouldn't hear".

She was too young to understand the black attire, the large church filled with family members, friends from grade school, high school, and college, and the pastor in the front, preaching about the lost souls finding their way to heaven, with the large choir singing beautiful songs that made her mother cry.

She was too young to understand the pain, and grief of losing a _daughter_. _Her sister_.

But not anymore, because over time, Christyna stopped asking questions about Kathy, if she was coming home, when college was gonna be over, and slowly, painstakingly, Christyna knew that on _that night_ , her sister was never going to be returning home, and that she was dead.

Even now, eighteen years after Kathy's death, it still was hard on Christyna. She may not remember much about her, except that her hair was more blonder than Christyna's, and that she loved apple pie, wearing scarfs, drinking tea, and watching the older shows like Hazel, MacGyver, and Hawaii Five-0. Her eyes teared up a little at the sudden overflow of memories, spending hours watching those shows with tea in Kathy's hands and hot chocolate in Christyna's, throwing snow balls at one another in the snow, and driving up to the mountains to go camping when summer came round.

The door suddenly swung open, and a short man with dark hair and black rimmed glasses approached her. "Ah, good to see you're awake, love." He said in a delicious British accent, smiling kindly as he stood by the hospital bed side. "How do you feel?" Christyna opened her mouth as if to speak, but only a hoarse scratch of a word came out. "Ah, yes, due to your fall, you may not be able to speak normally until your throat and mouth stop swelling." He informed her softly, and placed the clipboard he was carrying underneath his armpit, and readjusted his white coat, "Now, I'm Doctor Martin. And you, apparently do not show up in any of the files we have of missing people, or just the database in general..." He muttered the last part to himself quietly, but she had overheard that part. "I have to say, though, your body's ability to heal itself is really quite extraordinary. We've never come across someone quite like you before, I must say, or that with such a regeneration process such as one yourself beholds. You've seemed to have broken every bone in your body from your fall, and yet, they all have healed perfectly." He said this all with a light in his eyes, a very dangerous light, one that made Christyna's heart start to race from fear.

It showed on the monitors. "Oh, please, do not be alarmed!" He tried to say reassuringly, "We would never harm you!"

Christyna wasn't going to take any chances. The blue light she'd known of since she was a child was back, and had taken her here, far away from home. And to make things worse, something was wrong with her. She could feel it. Even Doctor Martin said it himself. She was extraordinary. And the last thing she needed was to become a test subject, and somehow, this man seemed like he had no problem poking her with needles and such.

She smiled with ease, in a gesture of assurance, and he smiled back, looking quite happy with himself.

That is, until she punched him in the face.

She managed to give him another kick in the groin once she swung her legs over the side of the bed, and she raced to the door. She found that the hallway was no better. Two guards stood there, with ugly pistols in their belts. A plan already started to formulate in her brain as soon as she spotted a fire extinguisher right down the hallway, ten feet away from her.

"Now, sweetheart, I don't really think it's a good idea for you to leave. You don't even know where you're going to go next, do you?" Doctor Martin asked her as he managed to stand up, straightening out his spine before holding out his hands up and slowly walking towards her.

She shrugged, "Okay, you got me there." Christyna agreed, and before he could sound the alarm to the two guards standing outside the door, she disappeared past the curtain and door and made it to the fire extinguisher. The two guards were already in shooting positions, pointing their guns right at her. She tsked disapprovingly, "Boys, boys, boys, you're too young to plays with those kinds of toys." She yanked the metal cord off the handle and was spraying into their eyes before they could even react.

She was already making her way down the hall when the three started following her on her heels. Doctor Martin shouted at the guards to follow her while he went to call in more reinforcements.

 _Crap_ , she thought to herself as she raced down the stairs, taking three at a time. Still, she couldn't help but feel a small curl of excitement in her stomach as she wound her way toward the front lobby and door. But it was a troubling thought, what Doctor Martin had told her. When she had came in, she had every bone in her body broken, but now, who knows how much later, she was perfectly healed, if not, even better. She hadn't felt this great in years. Every muscle, every cell vibrated with a kind of energy she hadn't felt in forever. Still, no rest for the wicked. She would have to figure out what had happened to her later when she got the chance to study herself, but at the moment, she was running for her life. _Literally._

She streamed past doctors, nurses and patients in the lobby, not wanting to stick around them and get further questioned, or heck, even stopped. She made it outside, racing down the street wearing nothing but a hospital gown that showed off just a little too much of her long legs. Her jeans, sweater and sneakers were probably being dissected right now in some lab to see if they held the clues to her mystery.

Christyna rounded the corner, and raced past pedestrians, runners, businessmen, and sleek black taxi drivers driving on the wrong side of the road that she was usually accustomed to. Well, now she knew where her blue Light had taken her to. London, England.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted three police cars making their way towards her, lights flashing and sirens blaring and all. She didn't think, all she did was duck behind another corner, and sprinted down another street as fast as she could.

They followed closely behind.

All of a sudden, a bright flash of pain exploded in her brain, causing her to stumble, and lose sight of all that she could make out. She turned right again, and pushed past fewer people on the sidewalks, all of whom who shot her uncertain glances towards her way as they hurried past, not asking if she was alright.

Farther down the street, a short man, wearing a knit sweater and regular jeans, with brown sturdy looking shoes, stepped into a doorway, holding a bag of groceries in his arms. The door was left adjacent, a few inches, and that was when Christyna saw her chance. Maybe it will prove to be stupid later, but it was all she could think of that moment, because the police cars spun around the corner at that moment and she lurched forward and fell through, kicking the door closed behind her.

She couldn't think of the consequences her rash and quick thinking could bring upon her when she woke up. But at the moment, she didn't really get the chance because for the second time in just 18 hours, she had blacked out again.

Less graciously than the last time, of course.


	2. 02: The Blind Baker, Pt 1

**02.**

 **The** **Blind** **Banker, Pt. 1**

"I said 'Could you pass me a pen?'" Sherlock said to John as he walked into the flat, placing his coat on his armchair.

John looked around himself in confusion, "What? When?"

"About an hour ago." Sherlock stated, his chin barely resting on the tips of his fingers. He had been staring at the pictures of the symbols on the wall for longer than a hour now, and his patience had run out two minutes after John had left.

John sighed, and turned to the table next to him, taking one and tossed it to Sherlock, who caught it, never taking his eyes off the pictures. "Didn't notice I'd gone out then?" He walked over to look closer at the pictures. "I went to see about a job at that surgery."

Sherlock: "How was it?"

John: "Great. She's great."

Sherlock: "Who?"

John: "The job."

Sherlock: "She?"

John: "It."

Sherlock's patience was running thinner, "Yeah, have a look." His head gestured to the laptop next to him.

John ambled over, reading the first half of the first sentence. " _'The intruder who can walk through walls'_."

"It happened last night." Sherlock said, "Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon."

John looked over at Sherlock in surprise, "God! You think..." He didn't finish his question, he had a feeling that this was the same killer. And he had a feeling that Sherlock knew this too.

"He's killed another one."

A second pause, before the two of them heard Mrs. Hudson exclaim loudly from downstairs in the hallway. "Oh my, Sherlock! John!" The two men shared confused but worried looks as they raced down the stairs to her, where she was standing above a girl. She was wearing a pale green hospital gown, it barely reaching her knees. She had long blonde hair, and tanner skin than what most Londoners would have.

John knelt down and placed his fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse. Beating away. He gently pulled back her eyelid, "She's alive, just unconscious." He told the other two, as he stepped back. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, taking the strange situation in. "So, what do we do with her now?"

To say that they have never seen anything like this was an understatement. They really haven't ever had a client wearing a hospital gown and fall through their front door, landing unconscious. "You, Sherlock, should take her upstairs, lay her down on the couch until she comes back to her senses. John, go get the couch ready." Mrs. Hudson advised, pointing up the steep narrow stairs.

Sherlock and John looked at the stairs, then at the unconscious girl, and then at each other before doing as Mrs. Hudson said. Huffing and puffing up the stairs, Sherlock held the girl in his arms, bridal style, while John went and got the couch ready for her to rest in. Sherlock placed her gently down, while John covered her with a blanket and Sherlock massaged his arms and lower back. "Not as light as she looks," he muttered to John as he walked back to his chair and sat down, promptly pretending like nothing had happened at all. John glanced down at the sleeping figure once more before going to his chair and sitting down as well. They both studied the symbols but their hearts weren't into it anymore, but went towards the sleeping girl in the couch across the room.

She posed a bigger mystery for Sherlock than that of the intruder walking through walls.


End file.
